Contract
by AnEndangeredSpycrab
Summary: He didn't expect to meet him right before everything began.
1. The Party

It begins, of all things, with a glass of wine.

The wine is the color of dark red, a bright contrast to the translucence of the slender glass. He's dressed finely tonight, donning what little fancy clothes he could find in his old Camper, a modest white dress shirt to suit his old pair of slacks- which aren't his, originally, but his pa's- and his hair is sleeked back and the usual aviators on his face are gone.

On one arm is a charming girl whose name he cannot remember, as dulled as his senses are by the steady pouring of Wine down his throat. It's been an hour or two since he first decided to drink tonight, and he's well on his fifth- sixth- glass, and his mouth is yearning for more. There is still a bit of sense in him to acknowledge the fact that _luckily I'm not the one paying for this bloody drink, because it must be bloody dear and God knows I haven't much coin to pay for it._ He must've said that out loud, however, because the girl on his arm- wasn't she blonde just a moment ago- giggles, and a large meaty hand slaps him on the back (and he stumbles forward slightly by the blow), accompanied by a gruff voice that laughs and says _Leetle man is not used to drink, da?_

He's very close to saying some embarrassing alcohol-induced retort when he sees _him_, a slight man with pale skin and tailored-to-fit clothes, picking up a flute of sparkling wine with delicate fingers-and he thinks _I've seen that man before_, and he's making his way towards him, leaving the large man and the charming blonde-brunette woman behind him.

Up close, the smaller man is full of sharp angles, with eyes an even sharper shade of blue. The sparkling wine looks even better on the man's lips.

"I'm Richard," he says. It takes him a while to realize that the words have left his mouth before he could stop them.

Richard watches as the other man merely raises an eye brow at him, and he is thinking _what in the bloody hell am I doing I'm not even thinking straight _when the other replies.

"Jean."

_That sounds like a girl's name_ flits through Richard's mind, but the wine is warm in his stomach and the soft tentative touch of Jean's hand on his forearm is even warmer, and he finds himself unable to think of anything else.

Richard has two weeks before his contract for the Reliable Excavation and Demolition begins, and in that frame he learns three things about Jean. One: Jean is- was- used to be a famous French actor before having to quit (due to an unexpected turn of events, Jean had said rather bitterly), and the reason why he was at the Mann Co. Welcome party was because he was invited there, and nothing else. Two: He is engaged to a woman named Catalina, who is currently waiting for him to 'tie up some loose strings'.

Three: He blushes a beautiful shade of red whenever Richard compliments him.

Richard knows that the third should bother him- that it should annoy him somehow, but it doesn't. In fact, it makes his heart leap in the most pleasant way, something that he hasn't felt for who knows how long.

It's the kind of two weeks before a long time that drags you down to despair before quickly hauling you up to acceptance. Two weeks are long enough, and not only is he busy, but Jean is too. Richard believes he is lucky to be able to spend at least three days a week with the other man in coffee shops and restaurants- three days a week, six days in total (if you count that one instance wherein they met coincidently at a local shopping district, Jean with his pretty fiancée at his arm and Richard with a shopping list written by his mother in his hand; _fancy meeting you here, is that Catalina? She looks lovely._ _We're just spending as much time together before I get started with work, I have another contract, you see, and oh I hope it's another movie contract because I'd love to see you on film_, and there's this sad little look in Jean's eyes before Richard catches himself and waves it away and _says, well, I have to finish this up before dinner, nice seeing you_, all the while with the hidden message in their stances that they'd meet at the Lobster restaurant Jean loves so much and Richard barely tolerates at the usual time tomorrow).

And maybe it's the intimacy and the secrecy of their meetings that gets Richard feeling like they're having an affair, and poor old mum's going to have a heart attack from discovering her son a poofter and grumpy old father would finally kick him out of the house, but what gets to him is the fact that Jean would be left behind by his pretty little thing of a fiancée and they could actually have an affair-

He never lets that particular thought wander any further, reminds himself that two equally manly and straight chums could meet every three in the afternoon at fancy lobster restaurants and coffee shops that provide coffee a tad too sweet.

The last time Richard meets up with Jean is the day he leaves for the train. It's another coincidence, but recently Richard's been hording all the coincidences and keeping them to himself, if it means getting to see the fancy French ex-movie star once again.

And with the way Jean's sharp blue eyes widen in shock and slowly warm up with familiarity upon seeing him, well, Richard believes he'd like to have as many coincidences he could gather.

"Heading south, mate?"

"Oui, but I'm supposed to be on a different train." Jean says this as casually he pleases, but there is an underlying note of disappointment in his tone. And then, "It is good seeing you again before we finally part, mon ami."

Richard thinks about the short span of six –seven- days they had together, around two hours each; thinks about the crisp French accent and the fancy suits, the sharply angled face and dark raven hair- soft as feathers, he imagines- and calculating blue eyes; thinks about Jean's soft, controlled laugh and the loud uncharacteristic ones coupled with a few snorts here and there if Richard says something witty and funny enough, and the way Jean's cheeks and nose and the tips of his ears turn a bright red upon realizing that he's lost control over his laughter again and it's rather degrading, and Richard insisting on how he likes it isn't helping.

Richard thinks about all this and finds that his heart is clenching painfully in his chest.

"See you around, slim." He says.

Once their respective trains arrive, they part without another word.


	2. Work

The vagueness with which Reliable Excavation and Demolition hired him along with many others is understandable after a few weeks on the job. For one, they are in constant war with the Builder's League United, who just so happened to have their own set of hired mercenaries with the same set of skills they had, making them both, in a way, evenly matched. It had bothered Richard- Sniper, as he is addressed by his class in place of his name- how eerie the scheduled warring went, but after some time it became one of the perks because, after all, he certainly did not sign up for a battle without rest.

But it is a full out war outside ceasefire, and Sniper has lost count of how many times he's seen a teammate or the opposing team blown up to bits, riddled with bullets, or shot in the head. It became, after some time, a normalcy he intends to bear with in order to get the huge sum of money the company would pay him after his contract is over (and he has only six months).

That isn't, however, the most uncanny of all things that come with the job. It is the concept and application of Respawn, wherein after twelve seconds of being dead a person comes back to life again, ready for another beating. At first, Sniper did not trust the machinery at all- God knows what it did to you besides bringing you back to life and rebuilding your body- and he had been very cautious with getting killed. After getting backstabbed, however, by an enemy Spy, well- he had no choice but to trust it.

Bloody Spies. Richard couldn't bring himself to even trust the lot, but at first it is admittedly his own Team's Spy's fault- a slippery and annoying fellow, that one. With his stupid expensive suits and balaclava and chain-smoking habits, and that haughty gleam in his eyes and his unrefined, boorish laughter, his slight build and obviously French accent-

Annoyed doesn't even cut it. Richard knows that the bloody Spook resembles what he had left behind on that train station only a week ago, and it angers him that a dangerous two-faced fraud like the RED Spy could be so similar.

Or maybe, just maybe, the fact that this same dangerous two-faced fraud could be Jean without him knowing it is more possible than not. He thinks, _Jean is a bloody actor, not a spy. He's off to do some short films and maybe even big ones once he is acknowledged as an actor again, because you really can't quite acting; He's got a fiancée, they're going to get married within the year, and the next time I see him would be too late, as happy and contented as he is with making his own family, and here will I be fighting a war nobody knows of and I'll never even know what his hair feels like between my fingers- _

It takes much effort not to let that train of thought haunt him, so he avoids Spies as much as possible.

And he hates himself for even wishing that Jean is, indeed, the RED Spy, as cruel and as unforgiving the said teammate is in his subterfuge.

Coming to terms with Jean's hidden malice is better than coming to terms with Jean getting married.

It's a particularly warm day when Richard hears a strange crackling sound in the air.

He knows what it is- not by experience, because he hadn't been spotted by spies at all after that first time, but he knows what decloaking sounds like thanks to his own team's Spy- and quickly he grabs his kukri and turns, ready to face the damned enemy Spook and teach him a thing or two about his short-temperedness with their kind.

What he doesn't expect is the Spy dropping the butterfly knife already poised to kill, and the frightened, surprised look that settles in his eyes. Richard figures that this Spy is certainly not used to getting spotted so quickly and met with such resistance, and he honestly feels bad about how terribly lacking the Spy is in skill and experience if he really does think that way, but Richard is not fond of dying and Respawn and knives embedded in the back of his neck that he lunges in for the kill anyway-

"S'il vous plait, monsieur, wait!"

Richard can recognize that voice anywhere.

There it is again, that ache in his chest. A part of him has already lost its will to strike down the enemy in front of him, because he knows- he hopes- that it is who he thinks it is under that mask. The BLU suit and the French accent could be where the similarities stop, however, and perhaps Richard's been researched all too well by the enemy for them to find out about this weakness of his, so he grips his weapon tighter and glowers at the Spy.

"Give me one bloody reason why I shouldn't dismember you right here and right now, you fraud." He doesn't realize how his words are oozing venom, but he notices the other man's flinch.

"It is I, mon cher," The Spy says quietly, blue eyes focused on him with such sincerity. "Jean."

And to prove his point, he carefully lifts the blue balaclava from his face, and Richard's already dropped his kukri and is lunging at him.


	3. Chance

Jean's face is in his hands. His fingers are buried deep within dark hair, and his lips are on softer, thinner ones. Richard's eyes are closed, having lost himself in the kiss, and he knows how much of his guard has been lowered already that any other enemy class could kill him at any moment now, but he doesn't care. Jean's face is in his hands and he's locking lips with him, and that's all that matters.

It would, however, make for an entirely awkward situation, to suddenly kiss someone who has no idea that all along he is being yearned this way by his male friend whom he isn't even supposed to cross paths with again, so Richard immediately pulls away. He realizes his entire face must be red, but not as possibly red as Jean's right now, still cradled in his hands. At the sight of this, Richard allows himself a small smile.

"Have I ever told you how adorable you are when you blush?"

Jean's face gets a notch redder, if possible. "Shush, bushman." And then, "It is nice to see you again."

"Yeah," Richard notices his thumbs slowly rubbing the elegant jut and curve of the BLU Spy's cheeks, and he feels his heart fill with something warm that he is worried it would be full to bursting. "I've missed you mighty lot, Slim."

Jean's eyes flutter close, a soft sigh falling from his lips. The Sniper watches, fascinated, as slightly long lashes brush the skin beneath it. "As have I, you."

A loud "MAGGOTS!" followed by the all-too frightening sound of a rocket-jumping maniac brings them out of their small reprieve, and before Richard could even say anything to return to that peaceful state of mind, the Spy had already donned his blue balaclava and is picking up his discarded weapon from the wooden floor of Sniper's roost. "I'm afraid I must take my leave, mon cher. We are still at war, and I do not think it is wise for either of our teams to realize our...relationship, oui?"

Richard grabs the BLU Spy's arm, thinking _no, I can't let you slip away again, no no no no, _and Jean must've noticed the panic in the Sniper's eyes, because he leans in close to whisper softly in his ear; "Later. In the small shed before the first control point. I will see you there."

Without any other thing said, the Spy had gone, leaving Richard alone with a job to finish, a duty to return to, and a heart still beating quickly.

Snipers are patient.

Back at the Outback, patience was key. Richard remembers many an hour he had to endure to achieve the perfect shot, be it on human or animal. Coupled with skill and the perfect timing, he could take down almost anything. As expected, he applies the same principle even in the battle he was hired o participate in, and he takes pride in his efficiency, his caution, and his steady aim. Patience, of course, plays a major role in all of these traits.

He cannot, however, find it himself to be patient right now. He is antsy, and nervous, looking up at the mess hall clock every once in a while, waiting for the hour to strike midnight. Almost all of his teammates have gone to bed, and besides the occasional visit to the fridge for some late night snacks, Richard is alone.

"Are you waiting for something, Herr Sniper?"

Richard pulls his gaze from the clock- thirty more minutes- and looks directly at the stern eyes of their team Medic. To be honest, he always felt rather queasy around the older man, and had been extra careful all this time to avoid the occasional trip to the man's clinic. He takes comfort in the fact that at least, out here in the mess hall, Medic wouldn't have his 'instruments' to use on him.

"I'm not really tired, doc." Sniper says in way of an excuse. "And I'm not used to my quarters. Too damn small."

Medic raises an eye brow, crossing the hall to get to the fridge. "It's been a week since you moved in here." There's a sort of rustling as the German man looks through the contents, frowning. "Mein gott. Have you seen the bag of thumbs I've placed here? I need it for my experiment, bitte."

Richard looks at the RED Medic as if he'd sprouted another head. "Why would you put a bag of thumbs there-" he shakes his head, correcting himself- "Why would you have a bag of bloody thumbs in the first place, anyway?"

"I ran out of space in mein fridge, and I do enjoy taking spoils of war-"

"Stop, stop. I don't need to know this." Bloody barmy, this lot. If it weren't for his love for his job, the mighty sum of money he's going to get at the end of this contract, and not to mention the fact that Jean is stuck in the same blunder, he wouldn't have been here in the first place. "Go ask the Pyro. I'm pretty sure it was fiddling with something odd when I passed it in the Rec room."

"Danke, Herr Sniper." The Medic stands, dusting his coat. "And do get some sleep. We rise up early tomorrow, ja?"

Richard glances at the clock- twenty-five minutes, why is the time so bloody slow- and mumbles a vague dismissal. Fortunately Medic hasn't been seeking any other sort of reply and promptly leaves, his footsteps ringing in the silence just as measuredly as the clock ticks the seconds away.

At around five minutes before the clock strikes twelve, Richard leaves his post at the mess hall and quickly makes his way out onto the field. He takes the shortcut he's been using ever since he found out about it; there are numerous boxes and planks that would enable him to lever himself up to the mountain pass, and the said pass allows for a good roost with convenient range. It is a natural jut of rock and moss that combined the two imposing mountains together, and as the Sniper makes his way across it, he realizes that it is much more perilous at night. It takes him a while to find an easy and safe footing upon the slippery overgrown rocks, and once he does get pass it, he's five minutes late already. Richard frowns, knowing full well how impatient and punctual Jean can be, so he takes two steps at a time down the makeshift stairs and up the ones leading to the shed, making up for lost time.

As expected, the BLU Spy is waiting for him when Sniper enters the shed. He is dressed in the same neatly pressed pinstriped suit he was wearing earlier, and somewhere in his mind Richard wonders if the said outfit had been in Jean's possession even before he became the BLU team's Spy, and at that thought countless of other questions fill his head, like why is Jean here in the first place-

Before he speaks, the Spy beats him to it.

"I'm sorry for lying to you, mon ami."

There's a small box by the wooden stairs that leads up to the second floor of the room, and Richard sits on it. "You didn't exactly lie. But you certainly kept this from me, slim."

"There are plenty I am keeping from you." Jean's hands are restless; Richard watches as he fiddles with the top button of his suit, then his tie. "You must know that I do not want to do this, oui?"

"I'm not blaming you for anything."

"But you want to know."

Richard pauses. And then, "That I do."

He lets the statement hang in the air.

The Spy brings a hand down his own face, digging digits down his collar and under his balaclava, and promptly takes the mask off. Richard's heart quickens at the familiar sight of his friend's sharp features. "Let's just say I had other contracts besides acting back in the day, mon cher."

"I never imagined you to be a Spy of all things, mate."

Jean's laughter is dry. Lifeless. "It is not a profession I am entirely proud of as well."

"You say that as if it were a bad thing." It is. As far as Richard is concerned, he knows fairly well that the job Jean is taking is full of deception and the like, something he could not seem to link to someone like the French man.

As if knowing what exactly Richard is thinking, Jean shakes his head. "I am not as good as you think I am."

"But that isn't the reason why you wanted to meet with me this late at night, is it?"

That seems to hit the nail squarely on the head. "Oui. It is about what happened earlier. About us." At Richard's raising of eye brows, the Spy throws his mask onto the floor in front of him. "Do not make this so difficult!"

Richard looks at him, at the person both his enemy and friend, and decides that if he's in this deep shit already, might as well go all the way. He raises a hand and gestures the other man over. Jean only frowns at him, but with the Sniper's urging, he finally approaches. Richard takes this opportunity to wrap his arms around the Spy's thin frame.

"I'm not making this difficult," he says quietly, looking into Jean's blue eyes. Good God, he could get lost in them for years and never want to leave. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this to happen." He didn't have to be specific.

Jean is chewing his lip, troubled. "We could lose our jobs, mon ami-"

"I'd risk it. I want to."

It felt like an eternity to Sniper when he waited for the Spy's response, but when the French man leaned down to kiss him on the lips, he realizes that it was worth it.


End file.
